


A Soldier's Heart

by theimmortalliz



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Past Abuse, Post Captain America: The Winter Soldier, stucky feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimmortalliz/pseuds/theimmortalliz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve tracks Bucky to an abandoned theatre, and intends to bring the Winter Soldier home. Written because I don't feel there's enough of Steve looking after/comforting/taking care of a irreversibly-damaged Bucky. So, there's that. Plus lots of feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Theatre

It was all over the news.

 

A man, a prominent but benevolent lawyer, had been taken hostage. By who no one could say, except that he was tall, dark-haired, had a cybernetic arm. He had dragged the lawyer from his office, one arm around his neck and metal arm free to push aside anyone who tried to stop them; when the police caught wind of the situation they attempted to surround him but he took off down a side alley and was lost within minutes.

 

Later the police received calls from an ailing security guard about the abandoned theatre he was guarding, and how it had just been broken into by two men – one in a suit, scared and pleading, and the other who had torn the door off its double-deadlocked hinges. It was the same man, had to be. Police encircled the theatre and waited.

 

Steve Rogers first saw the story as he passed an electronics superstore, television screens in the window all showing the same footage from a helicopter circling the theatre far above the city, and then again as he passed a couple hunched over a tablet at a bus stop; he pulled out his phone, quickly opening it to the news. They had released CCTV footage of the suspect and the victim, imploring people with any knowledge of the suspect's identity to come forwards.

 

 _Bucky_.

 

He got out of a cab a few blocks away from the theatre and walked the rest of the distance. It was surrounded by police but getting in was no trouble – up the fire escape of a neighbouring building, in through a broken window long ago boarded over. He found himself in a room which used to be the bar's storeroom, full of dust and old boxes and empty bottles. He walked silently through, leaving a trail in the dust, and carefully opened the door. The bar was as empty as the storeroom had been. He made his way down the stairs.

 

In the atrium was the first time Steve heard the lawyer scream. It was an awful sound which made him flinch, but he set his jaw and walked towards the doors through which the sound had come, the doors to the main theatre itself. They opened out onto the back of the room, high up and away from the stage, and in the half-light which filled the theatre he could see the lawyer kneeling on the stage. They must have come in through a stage exit. He crouched down low, behind the top row of seating, and waited.

 

It wasn't long before Bucky reappeared – it was his metal arm Steve saw first, glinting in the light which flooded in through another broken window somewhere behind the stage, then his bedraggled clothes, his army boots, his too-long hair. The light settled on the stage like a spotlight, highlighting the lawyer, casting a long shadow down the stage and onto the seats at the very front of the theatre. The air was quiet, still, shifting only around Bucky as he moved through the thick layer of dust which adorned the stage, leaving a clear set of footprints. Steve waited.

  
The Winter Soldier surveyed the room, like an actor taking in the audience, as he took another step closer to the man on the floor. His attention now undivided he pulled a knife from inside his threadbare jacket, watching the light reflect off it, casting speckles of light onto the floor which he watched, too, with the same stiff silence which he embodied.

 

“You are my _mission_.” He muttered, raising the knife against the lawyer.

 

“Bucky!” Steve called out, standing up from behind his hiding place, moving into full view and beginning to walk down one of the many aisles which separated the blocks of seats. Bucky stopped, arm raised in attack but eyes cautious, as he turned to look at the source of the noise. Steve walked slowly, hands spread wide in a show of surrender, a gentle smile on his face.

 

“ _You_.” Bucky growled, jumping from the stage to the floor with a metallic thud as his iron fist hit the wooden floorboards. He straightened up, knife still held tightly in his gloved hand, taking strong strides towards Steve up the sloped aisle.

 

“Yeah, Buck, it's me.” Steve said, as softly as he could. Mere steps from each other now Bucky raised the knife, ready to attack, but Steve remained passive.

 

“I am not your Bucky.” The Winter Soldier lunged at Steve, knife held firmly in his hand but angled down away from Steve, towards the floor, as Steve's feet immediately moved into a defensive position as he blocked the punch that came. The lawyer scrambled to his feet and started running just in time for Steve to shout _GO!_ , blocking another hit, this time to his stomach, as he did so.

 

“Don't make me do this.” Warned Steve, hand up ready to grip the wrist that held the knife. Bucky's eyes narrowed as he took half a step backwards, then took a full step forwards as he angled the knife towards Steve's face, arm coming down with full force; Steve grabbed his wrist and twisted, at the same time kicking the Winter Soldier's legs out from underneath him. The man collapsed on his back, winded. He didn't make a move to get up.

 

Steve crouched next to him, plucking the knife from his lax hand and throwing it as far away as he could down towards the stage. Bucky's breathing was deep as he struggled to regain his breath, tears in his eyes from where he had landed with force, but immediately those tears became real as he lifted a hand to his face to hide behind. Steve put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Help me.” Bucky managed, between sobs, cybernetic arm clasping at Steve's shirt and bringing him in close. Steve put one hand under Bucky's back and lifted him up to sitting, his face streaked with dirt and tears both fresh and long since cried. He embraced his friend, pulling him into a hug which Bucky was hesitant to return but when he did so he did so with full intent, holding onto Steve so tightly he might never have let go.

 

“I will, Buck. I will.”

 


	2. The Flat

Bucky struggled to gather himself, sobbing into Steve's shoulder as Steve held him tightly, whispering comforting words in his ear and stroking down the length of his back. When he had been silent for a while, Steve pulled back from the embrace and held Bucky's face in his hands.

 

“It'll be okay.” He said, smiling softly. “But first we have to get out of here.”

 

They left via the stage, Steve leading Bucky through the dressing room and out of a boarded-over fire escape into a back alley, which attached itself neatly to another theatre. They slipped into the neighbouring building, around the back of the stage and out through the doors leading to the front of the seating area where the steward ushered them into empty seats without bothering to check for tickets. When the theatre emptied, they left with the crowd.

 

*

 

“Why did you do it?” Steve asked, eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight of the afternoon. He wasn't sure what made him ask why Bucky had taken the lawyer, and he regretted it almost as soon as the words had left his mouth. He looked over at Bucky, whose eyes were set firmly on the pavement ahead as he walked, and reached out a hand to put on his shoulder.

  
“I don't...” Bucky rubbed his eyes, furrowing his forehead as if he was thinking hard. “I don't remember.” He mumbled, letting his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. Steve said nothing, but nodded his head.

 

“It happens a lot?” He asked, lips pursed. Bucky made a noise in the back of his throat.

 

“You don't know what I've done.”

 

“I'm almost certain they could link a whole bunch of recent disappearances to you.” Steve said, putting his hands in his pocket. “What do you do, just travel the country? Attacking people whenever you get confused?” He couldn't help his tone sounding hot as he gritted his teeth. He was not angry with Bucky so much as he was with what had been done to him, how he was made to think and act, how it was infecting him and continuing to ruin him even after the fall of HYDRA. Bucky looked away, jaw set. “Oh, Bucky. I didn't mean... I'm going to help you.” Steve put a reassuring hand on Bucky's shoulder, squeezing tightly. “I know what you've done. And I'm going to help you anyway.”

 

*

 

“Well, here it is.” Steve said, stepping inside his apartment and allowing Bucky to step past him into the main body of the flat. Bucky looked around, awe in his eyes.

 

“You live _here_?” He asked, walking the perimeter of the flat, hand trailing along the back of the leatherette sofa. 

 

“Yeah.” Steve shifted his weight between his feet as he locked the door of the apartment behind them. It had to be hard for Bucky, to come into a real home instead of spending another night on the streets, and Steve was all too aware of how lavish his home would seem. It didn't seem to bother Bucky, though, who was still looking around like a kid in a sweet shop, opening all of the cupboards in the adjoining kitchenette. 

 

“And you're going to let me stay here?” He asked, after having opened everything he could and looked behind everything possible. Steve knew what he was looking for – bugs, cameras – so he let him. 

 

“Yeah, if you like.” Steve opened his hands in a show of welcome. Bucky grinned at him, the first smile Steve had seen on his face since the forties, and Steve grinned back. 

 

“I would like. I would like a lot. Because I remember you.” Bucky walked closer to Steve, eyes walking all over his face, taking in every inch of him. “Not... not clearly. But I know you. And you're... you're safe.” 

 

“That's right.” Steve said, placing both his hands on Bucky's shoulders. “And you'll _be_ safe, here with me.” 

 

Bucky looked away, cheeks flushed and jaw set, unable to say the thank you he so desperately wanted to. Steve did not need him to say it. 

 


	3. The Make-Over

Standing in the centre of the flat, he began to realise something was wrong. Steve had his back to him, making coffee in the kitchenette, humming something he recognised from the radio; the sound was both too loud and too quiet, inside Bucky's head and yet all around him. The colours in the flat were wrong, too, they were too bright, too sudden, inescapable. His breathing picked up, became fast, became ragged, as his heart pounded rapidly in his chest. The walls were closing in. He put a hand to his chest, attempting to massage away the tightness that was beginning to form there, willing himself not to be so weak, so powerless, but it did nothing to help. Steve turned around and looked at him with concern.

 

“You okay, Bucky?”

 

He shook his head, face lost in his hair, asserting that he was both not okay and that he didn't recognise the name he was being called; it was wrong, all of it, and he had to get out.

 

“'m not 'Bucky'.” Was all he could manage to say before his eyes grew hot with tears, which he viciously bit back as he raised his face to the sky to stop them from falling. Steve crossed the room in three quick steps.

 

“C'mon, let's sit down...” He put a hand on Bucky's shoulder, but he pulled away instantly.

 

“Don't touch me _don't touch me_.” He growled, fists clenched as if he were ready to fight whilst his heart rate hit maximum and he couldn't catch his breath. “I shouldn't have come with you, I don't know you, _stupid_.” He said, to himself, cursing his want to trust the blonde stranger whose flat he now stood in. 

 

“Okay, it's okay.” Steve said, taking a step backwards away from him. “You do know me, remember?” He was almost begging, pleading with Bucky to remember who he was and why he had come with him. Something in Bucky's countenance changed as he seemed to regain control of his breathing. He nodded, slowly, looking around the room for visual clues to ground him. He settled on Steve's coffee cup, emblazoned with the Captain America shield. 

 

“I do know you.” He said, slowly, carefully weighing his words as he spoke. 

 

“You remember why you came with me?” Steve asked, gently, taking a step towards Bucky and gently putting a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“You're safe.” Said Bucky, mirroring his own words as he looked at Steve, unsure if he believed what he was saying. Steve gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. 

 

“That's right.” Steve said, as gently as he could as he put his arms around Bucky. “You're safe with me.” 

 

*

 

They sat on the leatherette sofa, sipping black coffee in total silence. Steve had held Bucky until his heart rate had dropped and his breathing had completely returned to normal, then had returned to making the drinks whilst Bucky made himself comfortable the only way he knew how; perched on the edge of the seat, tense like a cat ready to pounce and eyes trained on the door. Steve had convinced him to sit back in the seat to drink his coffee but he could not persuade him out of the tightness in his muscles or his constant need to watch the exits. 

 

“I remember what I did to you.” Bucky said, eventually, when they were halfway into the cups of steaming coffee. “I'm sorry.”

 

“You don't need to be.” Said Steve, gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It wasn't your fault.”

 

*

 

When they had finished their coffee Steve got Bucky the set of guest towels out the top of his bedroom cupboard and found him a set of his own clothes which looked as if they might fit the best of the selection. He made a mental note to buy Bucky clothes of his own, for they couldn't share the wardrobe forever, and handed Bucky the pile of linen. 

 

“Bathroom's at the end of the hall. The shower's a bit tricky – top dial's temperature, bottom dial's pressure. You need to turn the pressure one all the way up to get it to start.” 

 

“I'm sure I can figure it out.” Bucky said, wry smile on his face enough to convince Steve for a split second that he was back to his old self, before disappearing off down the hall. 

 

*

 

“I didn't know what to do with these.” Bucky shrugged, hands full of the dirty clothing he had been living in; torn jeans, threadbare military jacket, t-shirt one size too big. Seeing the clothes without anyone in them made Steve realise just how sad the situation had become for Bucky, just how sorry he must have looked, wandering the streets as a vagrant... It broke his heart. He took the clothes from Bucky and put them resolutely in the wash-basket. Bucky snorted. “I doubt they'll survive a wash.” 

 

“If they don't we'll throw them out. Until then you get the joy of wearing my clothes.” 

 

“Yeah, the joy.” Bucky grinned, wet hair sticking to his cheeks, and again Steve forgot who was really standing in front of him; for as much as he wished, as much as he prayed, it was not his old buddy standing in front of him but an exceptionally damaged man, torn and broken by what had been done to him and what he had done. 

 

“Shut up.” Steve smiled, tight knot forming in his stomach as he weighed up Bucky's future.

 


	4. The Memory

They spent the rest of the afternoon sprawled on the sofa, Bucky fluctuating between panic and calm as he tried to come to terms with being in the confined space of the flat. Steve was gentle, patient, holding his hand until the waves of panic passed and joking with him about them afterwards. When night fell the worst of his fears came out; it had been so long since he had spent a night inside without clear escape routes that he felt trapped, contained, and his breathing grew fast and his chest began to hurt with the strength of the attack. Steve put an arm around his shoulder, holding him tight, stroking his hair with his free hand and placing a gentle kiss against his temple. Bucky froze at his touch.

 

When the worst of the panic had left him, and he slumped with his forearms on his knees, breathing heavily, Steve stood up and stretched. “C'mon, soldier.” He said, giving Bucky's shoulder a squeeze. “You're bunking with me tonight.”

 

*

 

“This is bringing back some memories.” Bucky purred, propped up on one elbow as he watched Steve undress. Steve thanked God his back was turned so he wouldn't see him blush as he neatly folded his shirt and placed it deliberately on his bedside table.

 

“Oh really?” Said Steve, over his shoulder. “I suppose you'd like a strip tease?”

 

“If it helps...” Bucky shrugged, before lying down with his head resting in the crook of his metal arm. He shut his eyes whilst Steve hopped into his pyjama bottoms, suddenly aware that he barely knew the man, and opened them again to find Steve snuggled under the covers next to him.

 

“Do you remember this?” He asked, reaching over to turn out the bedside light as Bucky nodded slowly.

 

“Sharing a bed? Yeah... It's... It's there...” He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, as if his mouth were so dry he was struggling to get the words out. He looked away from Steve's bright blue eyes, the only thing catching any light in the darkness of the room, his muscles growing stiff and his fists clenched hard around handfuls of bedspread.

 

“What's wrong?” Steve asked, softly, voice barely more than a whisper in the darkness. Bucky seemed to tense even further, drawing into himself as if trying to get away. Steve put a hand out, eyes sharp even in the dark, and found Bucky's shoulder. Bucky gave a scared and startled gasp at the touch. “Hey.” Steve said, gently, stroking Bucky's arm. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

 

“I know.” He muttered, as if he didn't fully believe the words he was saying, before swallowing hard. “Just I don't get to choose which memories come back when, and lying here... With you...” He stopped speaking, unable to get the words past the stiffness in his throat.

 

“Oh, Buck.” Steve sighed, continuing to stroke Bucky's arm, as the other man began to relax into the touch. “What did they do to you?”

 

*

 

Steve brought Bucky into an all-encompassing embrace, holding him tightly against the world and all that it had done to him.

 

“I was their toy.” Bucky said, into Steve's neck, as Steve stroked his back with one hand and his hair with the other. He was tense, yes, but with every gentle movement he relaxed a little bit as he came to realise Steve would not hurt him. “Their plaything. I had my uses, they sent me out to play with the big boys – assassinations, reconnaissance – but when I was done, I... I went back. Like a dog on a choke-chain. To be played with and wiped and -” He stopped, unable to continue, the words frozen in his throat. “They were cruel.” He said, his tone one of a man who had frequently thought so but had never dared before speak it and so could not fully trust himself. His eyes briefly met Steve's, kind and warm, before Steve kissed him sweetly on the forehead. “I remember that.” Bucky mumbled, cheeks touched by a sudden, and alien, redness.

 

He looked at Steve as if he were seeing him for the first time, serum-sharpened eyes fully capable in the darkness of picking out the cobalt blue of his eyes, the sun-kissed lock of blonde hair falling in front of his face, the pink tinge to his lips. He kissed him, slowly, hesitantly, a sudden wash of emotion coming over him as he remembered Steve's taste, the softness of his lips against his own, the smell of his aftershave unchanged since the forties when he had last held his lover this close.

 

“James.” Steve broke the kiss but still held on to him tight. “Do you remember us?” Even in the darkness Bucky could see the concerned glint in his eye.

 

“I remember how it _feels_.” He said, the sting of a tear in his eye as he knew, instantly, that this one charade at closeness would be lost to him when he admitted that he still didn't know Steve. “It feels like summer sun, and staying up past midnight, and... and...” Hot tears began to fall down his cheeks as he pulled Steve close, burying his face in his shoulder. Steve returned the embrace, kissing Bucky's hair as he held him.

 

“You'll get there.” Said Steve, letting Bucky cry. “You'll get there.”

 


	5. The Breakfast

Steve remained awake until he was certain Bucky was asleep; he felt is heart-rate drop as he held him in his arms and heard his breathing grow slow and steady – only then did he close his own eyes and allow sleep to come to him. He was not sure how long he was asleep before he felt Bucky crawl out from under his arms and into his own space on the bed, but when he did he did not bother fully waking. The man needed space, he reasoned, and so it felt right to leave him to sleep on his own side of the bed; until Bucky's nightmares began.

 

Steve had always been a light sleeper so it was no surprise when he was awoken by Bucky's mumblings under his breath, a mix of English and Russian and a language Steve thought he recognised as French although Bucky's accent was heavy; he switched so often that he hardly caught any of what the other man was saying, but from the way he had shut his eyes tight and clenched his fists in his sleep Steve could tell that it wasn't anything good.

 

“Hey, Bucky.” Steve said, sitting up, voice barely more than a whisper, not wanting to startle the man sleeping next to him. “Bucky.” He put a hand out and touched Bucky's shoulder. Next he knew a hand had grabbed his wrist and flung him backwards, arm twisting behind him so he ended up laying uncomfortably on his side, winded and feeling as if his arm might break. Bucky was on his knees, holding him down. “Bucky!” Steve said, loud enough to break through the Winter Soldier's programming. “It's me, Steve!”

 

“Oh my God.” Bucky let go of him almost instantaneously, withdrawing the hands holding him down and placing them in his lap helplessly. Steve came up to sitting, rubbing his twisted arm, a surprised but careful smile on his face. “I-I'm so sorry.” Bucky hung his head, hair falling in front of his face and casting his features into strange shadows with the light from the electric alarm clock blue over his nose and chin. Steve put out a hand, more cautiously this time, and squeezed his shoulder.

  
“It's okay.” He said, still smiling although the pain in his arm was almost enough to make him curse. “I shouldn't have woken you. It just seemed as if...”

 

“As if what?” Said Bucky, defensively, shaking off the touch as he set his jaw against further tears falling.

 

“Nothing...” Steve trailed off, feeling just as useless as Bucky looked, unsure how to react as he weighed the situation. “What were you dreaming about?” He tried, tone inquisitive but gentle so as not to push Bucky too much.

 

“Nothing.” Bucky laid down and rolled over, back towards Steve. He said nothing more on the matter, leaving Steve alone in the silence.

 

*

 

In the early daylight Bucky seemed to sleep better, although his sleep was not deep and he still tossed and turned more than was usual for a man of his age, so Steve felt safe in stopping his vigil and sleeping next to him. He caught a couple of hours before the alarm went off at six. Bucky sat bolt upright, eyes wide and fearful, head turning to try and locate the sound. Steve switched the alarm off quickly and managed to coax Bucky out of his high-tense state by promise of breakfast if he slept a few more hours. When Bucky's hurried breathing had returned to normal and his heart had stopped beating out of his chest Steve left him alone in the bedroom.

 

He did not want Bucky alone in the flat without him, not for fear of what he might do to the place but for fear of him waking up scared and alone without someone to reassure him, so he skipped his morning run and instead did a circuit in his living room, as quietly as he could so as not to wake Bucky, whilst his mind raced with possibilities for the two of them living together, none of which seemed promising. It made him feel a little bit sick, light-headed as his mind spun with thoughts about what living with Bucky might be like – the man had, after all, almost broken his arm when he had tried to wake him from a nightmare. He did not know what to do, or who to turn to. His support network was gone, scattered across the globe; Director Fury, a director no more, was beyond contact, Natasha was trying to find herself, and Sam, although Steve's nearest thing to a friend, could hardly take kindly to Steve producing the man that had once tried to kill him. He thought the world of Sam, but he couldn't be sure he'd understand. He finished his circuit and hit the shower, deliberately casting every last thought out of his mind for ten minutes.

 

When he emerged from the shower, towel around his waist and hair dripping, he found Bucky sitting on his living room sofa, in the jogging bottoms he had slept in and a t-shirt he must have found in one of the drawers, a loose thread caught in the metal of his arm. He looked at Steve expectantly and Steve stared vacantly back, his only thought relating to how little clothing he was wearing.

 

“You promised breakfast.” Said Bucky, watching Steve grow ever more red in the cheeks as he stood there dripping, a smirk on his lips as he looked Steve up and down.

 

“Oh! Right. Yeah. Uh, two minutes.” Steve muttered before scurrying from the room; it was countless the number of times Bucky had seen him undressed but there was something of the stranger in Bucky now which made it feel as if it were wrong to be standing nude in front of him. Inwardly Steve cursed his shyness and began to dress.

 

*

 

“So what were you dreaming about?” Steve asked, after the first few mouthfuls of cereal and toast had passed in silence. Bucky swallowed a mouthful of toast before wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.

 

“You sure you want to know?” He asked, brushing crumbs off the table for lack of anything else to occupy him in the silence which stretched between them as Steve made up his mind.

 

“Yeah, I do.” He said, eventually, but with a certainty which seemed to reassure Bucky enough to make him want to explain. He cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table, unable to eat whilst recounting such nightmares.

 

“I was dreaming about a mission gone wrong.” He said, with a finality that invited no further questions although Steve's eyes asked them. He lifted up his shirt and showed Steve a series of circular scars down his side. “I was tortured. Electric shock. Eventually I got out, because, well...” He motioned at himself, at his serum-enhanced body, his metal arm, his presence, and Steve understood what it must have taken for Bucky to escape, the blood he must have on his hands, even if that blood was of people who had captured and tortured him. “You know it's not only memory wiping they can do.” He said, hand trailing over the spoon in his bowl as his cereal went soggy. “They made me _relive it_. For _weeks_.” He grit his teeth and stirred his cereal with his spoon, wanting nothing more than to keep his hands busy. Steve had also stopped eating, sad eyes taking in Bucky and everything that he had gone through, wishing he knew what to say to make it better. Bucky shrugged. “But it's in the past.” He said, in a tone like the old Bucky, always one to live and let live. Steve took a deep breath and resumed eating, knowing that Bucky was hoping the situation would revert to some normalcy. 


	6. The Visit

They split the washing up, Bucky washing and Steve drying, like an old couple familiar with their domestic duties.

 

“That thing waterproof?” Steve asked, looking at Bucky's mechanical arm.

 

“Shut up.” He smiled, shaking his head. They were both painfully aware of Bucky pulling Steve out of the lake, of how Bucky's arm now functioned perfectly well despite that water damage, yet neither of them chose to mention it. Bucky tucked his hair behind his ear with a wet hand, leaving streaks of soap behind. Steve batted his head with the tea-towel, making a show of getting rid of the bubbles, whilst Bucky pretended to try and duck away.

 

“Come here. You actually do have soap in your hair. And we wouldn't want to ruin your flowing locks.” Bucky stood still long enough for Steve to dab the bubbles away with the towel before again trying to escape the touch like a kid trying to escape the over-caring hand of his mother. Steve let him squirm for a bit before returning to drying the dishes.

 

Bucky put the last of the cutlery on the draining board just as the door buzzer went. He jumped, the cutlery clattering back into the sink at his shaking hand.

 

“It's the door.” Steve said, as much to reassure Bucky as to inform him he was going to answer it. Bucky plucked the towel from Steve's hands and began drying his own.

 

“So answer it.” He said, unable to meet Steve's eye. He seemed to shrink into the wall, become part of the furniture, so as he would not be noticeable to the visitor. Steve sighed and went to the door, buzzing the guest up to his flat. He took a deep breath before answering it.

 

*

 

“Hey!” Sam said, holding out his hand to Steve who shook it firmly but amicably. “I missed you out running this morning. Thought the world was ending or the government was collapsing or something and you might need a hand.”

 

“Not exactly.” Steve said, pressing his lips together.

 

“Then what?” Asked Sam, tone cautious as he raised one eyebrow. Steve said nothing for a moment, hands in his pockets, looking for the right words.

  
“I've found him.” He said, eventually, simply, unsure what else there could be to say. Sam's eyes widened, hand going over his mouth. Then a realisation came over him.

 

“That abandoned theatre thing. With the lawyer.”

 

“Yeah.” Steve said, shifting his weight between his feet. “Look, I'm really sorry I didn't -” Sam held up his hands.

 

“No need to apologise. I get it. But you can't look after him alone.” Sam gave him a searching look before digging around in his pocket for something. He pulled out a business card. “Here's the details of the group. You might learn something that could help him.” Steve smiled, taking the card and holding it with both hands. He should have known Sam better, known that the man would want to help. He had to admit, he felt a little bad now for not calling him straight away. If he was hurt by the gesture, Sam didn't show it.

 

*

 

“I knew that voice.” Bucky said, after Steve had shut the door and he felt comfortable enough to step forwards away from the wall of the kitchenette.

 

“Sam.” Said Steve, and although the name meant little to Bucky by itself he added no further explanation.

 

“You told him I was here. Why?” Bucky glared, tone hurt.

 

“He wants to help, Buck.” Steve said, with a slump of his shoulders. He did not tire of Bucky's defensive nature so much as it made him pity him, and he did not like to feel pity for someone who was once, and who still could be, his best friend. He took another look at the card and put it in his pocket. Even though Bucky had overheard the conversation, he decided not to raise the subject further. Bucky seemed to relax when he realised Steve wasn't going to drag him out of the flat immediately to some gathering, finally putting down the towel he had been clutching tightly in his hands.

 

“I believe you.” Said Bucky, quietly, looking at the floor. Steve pretended as if his heart hadn't skipped a beat, as if he wasn't instantly thrilled to hear of Bucky's belief in him, as if it wasn't such a massive step for the man that he had now grown so silent and still Steve feared he might again shrink into the walls never to be retrieved.

 

“Thanks.” He said, with an easy, reassuring smile. The corners of Bucky's mouth turned upwards in return.

 


End file.
